Noise Complaint
by poorlittlerichgirl91
Summary: PWP; A look at Jack and Rose's life after the sinking... Warning: M content.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Write a 10,000 word one-shot centred entirely around sex? Challenge accepted. Don't blame me, I'm sexually frustrated. Can you tell?**

**Anyway, I've been writing a few AU one-shots that explore Jack and Rose's relationship and life together in various scenarios. There's not really much 'point' to them as far as storytelling goes, but I enjoy writing them. This is way too long to be a one-shot so I'm splitting it into parts.**

** By the way, please let me know in reviews whether my writing is too 'descriptive'. I've noticed a tendency to ramble on a bit in my writing, especially when it comes to exploring character thoughts/emotions. Is this good? Bad? Does it make portions of my writing boring? Constructive criticism is encouraged.**

Enjoy x

* * *

**Thursday, 13th June 1912**

Their apartment was in a gloomy industrialised neighbourhood of Lower Manhattan, not far from where they'd docked the Carpathia at Pier 54. Despite the building's drab interior furnishings and the lingering odour of mildew, the rooms that Jack and Rose resided in were not too dismal; a beaten-up couch and stained floorboards being the extent of unpleasantry. They knew they had gotten lucky: finding an affordable place with a landlord who – at his own discretion – had not pushed to see a marriage licence, despite suspiciously eyeing the mismatched couple who'd landed on his doorstep in the middle of the night. They were just grateful not to be slumming it on the streets, starving and destitute, contrary to what her mother had forewarned disapprovingly.

Rose sighed contentedly as she picked up the clothes strewn across their bedroom floor from the previous night and began folding them, humming a familiar tune as she did it.

"Come Josephine in my flying machine. . ."

She brought one of Jack's cotton shirts close, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of charcoal and sandalwood, missing him as she did every day. She supposed it was silly, really, to miss another person so much; to _love_ another person so much. She could hear her mother's voice in her head now, criticising her decision to '_throw everything away for a fling on a ship_'; could see those steely eyes devoid of all emotion as she'd warned bitterly that their relationship would '_not last_' because '_intense physical attraction never does_'. This had irritated Rose, who felt offended that anyone had the audacity to simplify her wonderful relationship with Jack and reduce it to something as superficial as mere physical attraction, pre-determined to fail based on statistics that didn't even apply to them. Jack on the other hand, had been amused (such was his ability to shrug off Ruth's jibes) and entirely unsurprised; although he was vocal in his compassion toward his future mother-in-law, finding it genuinely sad that she had let the absence of love render her so cold. For Rose, it was hard to take such a sympathetic stance, despite how much she adored his tolerant and empathic reaction to a woman who had treated him so terribly; it was so good-natured and so inherently _Jack_.

It frustrated her that was so much _more_ to their relationship and that her mother could not – _would_ _not_ – see it; her and Jack were best friends, partners, equals. They had intellectual discussions about art and philosophy and politics, shared household errands and domestic chores, they joked and laughed and played together; valued each other's opinions and advice; and loved each other's minds, thoughts, and ideas.

Of course, her mother's judgement wasn't the only unfair scrutiny making Rose's life miserable. A number of their new neighbours had been less than welcoming, and had made it more than obvious what they thought of her refined mannerisms and eloquent enunciation. It had not taken Rose long to realise she did not fit in with the women - the majority of them busybody housewives who had nothing better to do than gaggle and gossip whilst their husbands worked at the factories all day. She had gone along to their afternoon meetings but when she hadn't been able to contribute anything to their conversations about failing marriages and resented husbands, she found herself at a disadvantage. Instead, she had made the mistake of gushing over Jack to them: his thoughtfulness, his attentiveness, his progressive attitudes toward outdated gender roles and his willingness to share the burden of cooking and cleaning. . . She'd seen the way they dubiously glanced at her unadorned ring finger in response, unanswered questions hidden beneath icy stares; seen the way they had watched disapprovingly as she'd thrown her arms around his neck and showered his face in grateful kisses _"with no regard for common decency" _. . . or so she'd overheard. That's all it had taken for Rose to decide not to return for another one of their afternoon gatherings.

Avoidance of the women's social circle had only encouraged them to take a proactive role in their dislike of her: the hushed remarks about the way she carried herself and the eloquent way in which she spoke. Barely a week after her unsuccessful meeting with them, she had overheard whispered comments in the communal foyer as she passed by.

_"Look at the way she carries herself! Little Miss high and mighty!"_

_"What kind of woman lets a man assist her with the cooking and cleaning? __I wouldn't be surprised if he does all the work whilst she lounges around like the Queen of Sheba."_

Rose frowned at the memory, remembering how Jack had cradled her in his arms and tenderly kissed away her tears that night as she'd confided in him. She was so grateful for him; his tenderness, his ability to comfort and console her with such ease. She'd tried to shrug off that something was bothering her – but he'd known, _of course he'd known_ – and he'd gently tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, and that's when she'd surrendered to him; to her soulmate, piercing her heart with a gaze of his infinite concern and adoration.

_"Sweetheart, they're just jealous of you. Unhappy with their own lives and too bored to pass their time doing anything else,"_

He had dedicated the rest of the night to tirelessly showing her just how much he loved and worshipped and adored her, and sleep had not approached until the early hours of the morning after she'd seen the stars again and again and again. Jack was a giver by nature, and every day – and night – was a mission to make his Rose as happy, satisfied, and loved as energy and resources would allow.

Rose walked out of the bedroom, her mind suddenly on the day's chores, groaning absentmindedly as she remembered that she hadn't finished cleaning the dishes the night before. She had been in the middle of washing them, stood at the sink and entirely focused on the task at hand, but then Jack's arms were around her waist, his lips on her neck and suddenly his hands were hitching up her dress, and then. . .

Her cheeks burned.

It was overwhelming to desire someone so much, yet so divine she almost wanted to cry just thinking about it. Their insatiable passion for one another that seeped into every part of their lives; physical, mental, emotional; it was spiritual, almost. She had often wondered, was it supposed to be like this? No other woman she'd met – not the upper-class society members nor the garment workers who shared their apartment building – had ever seemed even half as hopelessly smitten and consumed with their partner as she was with Jack. She knew she'd made the right decision, of that there was no doubt in her mind. Their life was far from perfect, but she was happier than she'd ever thought possible.

She entered the kitchen, pushing open the darkened windows that overlooked the greyscale skyline of Manhattan; wafting in a fresh breeze from the Hudson River. Her eyes scanned the counter for the stack of dirty dishes, but to her confusion, all she found in their place was a note written in Jack's tidy scrawl, with a sketch of Rose as she slept; smudges of charcoal littering the edges, placed atop the freshly polished worktop. She picked up the piece of paper gingerly, her heart melting in wonder at how he had captured her: a tender, content expression gracing her face; one hand flung onto his pillow where she guessed she had reached for him, even in her sleep. Smiling warmly, she glanced underneath the drawing to read the words he'd left for her:

_Rose,_

_I take full responsibility for the dishes not getting done last night - so I woke up early to take care of them before work. The loss of sleep was worth it. Let's not do the dishes more often._

_You're sleeping right now - you look like an angel. I can't believe how lucky I am to wake up to the sight of you every morning._

_I don't wanna leave. I miss you already._

_Miss me too, will ya?_

_Love, Jack_

Oh, God, what had she ever done to deserve him? The fact that she could have woken up every morning lying next to some despicable bastard in a gentleman's body horrified her, and she was so, so glad that Jack Dawson had been given to her instead. She sighed, missing him and adoring him and wishing for the workday to soon end.

* * *

Jack sighed as he walked to the door of their apartment building, the only home he had known since he was fifteen. He looked around cautiously, keeping a watchful eye on the unpleasant-looking men huddled in crevices and on street corners as he dug a hand in his pocket, searching for his keys. The apartment itself was not a bad place: it was affordable and clean, if not for the unsavoury location and questionable neighbours it would almost be ideal.

They were located half a mile from the progressive, bohemian mecca of Greenwich Village – where Jack worked – and he was hoping that when he had saved up enough money, they might settle there amongst a more like-minded crowd. He turned his key in the lock and walked into the foyer to be met by Marvin, their landlord, sitting at his desk and filing through paperwork.

"Hey Marv," Jack called amicably to the older gentleman; a bear of a man with kind, spectacled eyes.

Marvin's expression changed to a bleak one when he raised his head, and he discreetly signalled Jack over with a gesture.

Jack sighed. His arms burned with the need to hold Rose, as they always did after being separated from her all day, and he didn't appreciate anything that would delay that endeavour. He shot Marvin a puzzled look, walking over to the desk with raised eyebrows.

"That's the third complaint this week, Jack." Marvin whispered, somewhat sympathetically. "I get it, you're young and in love, but the rest of Manhattan need their sleep, son–"

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide the furious blush on his cheeks as he cut him off sheepishly. "Right. Sorry."

He turned, too embarrassed to say anything else, but was immediately met by a group of smirking factory workers – some he recognised as residents of the same floor as he and Rose – wiping the sweat and grease from their foreheads, accumulated after a laborious days work on the assembly lines.

"Can't say I blame ya, a woman like that. . ." One of them sneered, holding a cigarette between his filthy fingers.

Jack tensed as he passed them, walking towards the stairs and trying to ignore the sounds of their snickers. He climbed, grabbing the wooden baluster as the rickety staircase shook under his movements, teeth gritted in frustration. The other residents did not always make living here easy; the gossipy women, the threatening men. . .

Jack climbed another flight, spotting a cockroach scuttle across a peeling wall. Sometimes he felt so disappointed in himself that this was the best he could give the one who gave his life meaning. It wasn't as though he didn't remember her days before. He could still see the elegant gowns, the luxurious accommodation, the servants tending to her every whim; yet she had somehow given it all up for him without as much as a second thought. He knew she was infinitely happier now, but he still felt the slightest jab of guilt, knowing she deserved more than he could ever give her. He couldn't even offer her a wedding, at least not yet. They were waiting for Rose's eighteenth birthday – that coming August – to marry, and so far had relied on a mixture of good fortune and careful deflection to avoid being pressed for evidence of their marriage. It was the only way they could get away with sharing a living space, even one that left as much to be desired as this one: both in terms of its location and its occupants. She was royalty amongst these people – so amazingly gorgeous – it terrified him, the grim reality that almost any of those men downstairs would assault her if faced with the opportunity. He reached the third floor, where their apartment was located, unclenching his fists and feeling the anger disperse as he realised he was moments away from reuniting with his love.

* * *

Rose was sitting in the ratty armchair in their living room, waiting to hear the sound of those big, thick boots thudding outside the front door. She loved that sound and the routine that followed – the enveloping of her body by strong arms, the kiss full of such ardour it almost doomed them before they said a word.

The smell of roasting chicken wafted through the air from the ancient stove. She hadn't yet completely mastered the task of cook, but she felt like she was improving. Her first few meals had turned out so burnt and charred that she had wanted to cry at Jack's sweetness when he'd asked for seconds just to keep her from bursting into tears. Now he actually seemed to look forward to eating her food. She treasured their dinners – the entire time Jack simply stared at her as he tried and sometimes failed to get food in his mouth, his free hand caressing hers from across the table. A woman had never felt as cherished as she did. He made her feel as if she were the only girl he had ever looked at, ever been with; the only girl that had ever existed.

Suddenly, the sound of muffled, heavy footsteps seeped in through around the door, and Rose's heart flew. She was out of the chair before she realised it. A key grated in the lock and she whisked to the front door, getting there mere milliseconds after it opened. There he stood – the love of her life – his hair shining even blonder from the sun, his skin more tan from walking through the hot day, his clothes dirtier from a day of work. She couldn't adore him more than she did at that moment.

"Baby–" she muttered, yelping as a rush of pure adoration surged through her whole being.

His arms instinctively opened and his hands groped for her, and she threw herself at him, her hands clutching the charcoal-stained shirt at his chest. His grin broke like it always did, and she could tell it was the first true grin he had given all day and that it was saved especially for her. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, not able to wait any longer, her arms climbing his body to wind around his neck. He moved her backwards as their mouths connected, slowly stumbling forward so he could close and lock the door. Her rosebud lips moved away from his for a split second to allow air to fill her lungs before he cut her off again, tasting the sweet honey depths of her mouth meant only for him; that had only been given to him. He felt her giving way inside, and he held her up as she relaxed in his grip, one arm supporting her weight and one hand on the small of her back. His eyes, pools of mystery that they were, searched her own with concern drifting in their azure waters.

"How was everything today?" He asked softly, bending his head to say the sentence into her skin, heating the flesh beneath his words.

"Better now," she grinned, resting the tip of her chin on his chest, gazing up at him. "Thank you for doing the dishes. You're wonderful."

At over six foot, he towered over her petite five foot five frame, and so leant down – beaming with adoration – to place a sweet kiss on her nose, moving his hands to cup her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks ever so tenderly. She pouted, puckering her lips up at him to signify where she would prefer his kiss. When his lips didn't come, she scowled mockingly, standing on her tiptoes to close the space between them. She sighed into the kiss, losing herself in his mouth yet again, before the smell of burning food reached her and reluctantly, with a moan she wrenched herself from his arms and made her way to the kitchen.

He stared after her, watching every move she made, amazed that anyone had the right or even capability to look so magnificent any time, place, or circumstance. He watched as the pretty lavender sundress complemented her voluptuous figure, the sashed waist emphasising the ample swell of her breasts perfectly. He kicked off his boots and walked towards her.

Rose was sliding plates of chicken, potatoes, and bread onto their modest table. He was still by the door, still licking his lips that were bruised from their desperate kisses. As she wiped her hands on a rag, she watched him curiously as he simply stared at her, eyes undressing her with his artist's gaze.

"Don't even think about it," she grinned, recognising the hungry look in his eyes.

He feigned innocence, gasping. "What?"

As they both laughed, he noticed a stray curl had fallen into her eye. He hardly felt his socked feet moving over to her and his callused finger gently brushing it from her pretty face. Still, after nearly two months, she glowed shyly whenever he was so tender with her. Her eyes flickered to the floor, and a soft smile replaced her puzzled expression as she watched him pull a chair out for her. She sat down gracefully, beaming up at him.

Suddenly ravenous and realising he'd not eaten since that morning, Jack did the same and began tearing into his food.

"It's wonderful, sweetheart," he muttered in-between gulps as Rose daintily cut pieces of chicken and lowered her lips to her utensils. She shone with gratitude.

Jack snaked a hand across the table and caressed hers gently. If it was up to Rose, they would always be touching in some way; the feeling of his hands on her – no matter how subtle or brief the contact – had become almost a necessity.

"How was your day, darling?"

He nodded in response, his mouth full. She smiled affectionately.

"The gallery was busy. Sold a few sketches."

"That's wonderful, Jack."

"Customers were asking about you. I caught Mrs Joslin and her sister going through my portfolio, they wanna hang your portrait in the tea rooms–"

"How absurd!" She downplayed the compliment. "Jack, really. A scantily-clad portrait of me hanging in The Village tea rooms. . ."

Jack took a sip of water, trying to stifle his laughter.

"I'd really have my work cut out for me then, huh? I'd be fighting off the whole of Houston Street just to get you home."

Rose blushed, giggling like the shy, starry-eyed young girl his flattering often reduced her to.

The rest of their supper was eaten in comfortable silence. Rose soaking up the satisfaction of just being with him, Jack chewing over whether to bring up Marvin's words. He considered it, but then remembered how down she'd been about their neighbours recently. Would knowing they had received complaints serve any other purpose than to make her feel disheartened about the situation all over again? He didn't want to keep anything from her, but at the same time, he didn't want her to be needlessly upset. Scraping the last few forkfuls of his food onto his plate, he decided against it; her happiness being his main priority. When they were finished eating, he cleared his and her place and scrubbed every dish in sight, clean or dirty, as Rose shook her head at him.

Thoroughly enjoying his presence after being separated from him all day, she lingered. Jack radiated warmth and charisma one could appreciate just by being in the same room. Absentmindedly, she saw him in her mind's eye: out on the promenade deck of the Titanic; the sea breeze blowing his sandy blond mop of hair, golden-tanned skin just visible in his open-collared shirt, piercing eyes of azure squinting in the sun. He was the sunshine himself, she was sure – radiant and blinding – bringing life and warmth with him everywhere he went. She smiled at the memory and at how nothing had changed.

She stood next to him at the counter, reaching for a dishrag and began drying his clean dishes.

"Nuh-uh," he grinned, trying to snatch the towel away from her hands. "You cooked everything. I'm cleaning up. Go and relax."

"You're cleaning up, I'm just putting them away."

Her stubbornness was endearing, and Jack couldn't help but chuckle as she held out an expectant hand, signalling for him to pass the dripping plate he'd just lifted from the sink.

In a way, his determination to take care of everything and her adamant refusal to let him summed up the dynamic of their relationship and why it worked so well: both partners cared about the other's needs to an entirely selfless degree, creating the perfect balance of reciprocity and compromise; of give and take. Jack and Rose were not likely to fall victim to the monotony of stereotypical relationship woes anytime soon – the building up of resentment, the taking for granted – and for one simple reason: each had sacrificed and survived a life and a death to be together.

He handed her the last of the clean plates, watching lovingly as she stood on her tiptoes and placed them into the cupboard. She knew what was coming as soon as she heard the faucet stop running, and within seconds he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she dried the remaining crockery. His cheek brushed against her own as his chin rested on her shoulder.

"Hey, you."

She laughed softly, his eyelashes tickling her cheek as he kissed her. "Hello, Jack."

"Did you like the drawing I left this morning?"

"I did. You're lovely." She sighed happily, moving her hand to rest over his affectionately. "Do I always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Reach for you in my sleep?"

"Mmm-hmm," he chuckled softly, brushing his lips against her cheek as his arms hugged her closer and firmer against him.

In a place of quiet contemplation, her thoughts drifted yet again to how inadequately she fit in amongst their neighbours, despite her best efforts to act inconspicuous. The way the women had glared at her even before she'd opened her mouth: her red curls, alabaster skin and the refined, elegant way she'd carried herself – even in sodden clothes – instantly giving her away as an upper-class lady.

Jack, his body and mind – and soul – so in sync with her own, knew the signs of her rumination; could sense the unease emitting with every deep exhalation, could feel the tension gathering in her arms and abdomen as he held her. He knew without asking what was troubling her, somehow he always did.

"What they think doesn't matter. You know that, right?"

She smiled gently, appreciating how tuned in to her he was; a stark contrast from how ignored and neglected she'd felt throughout her childhood and before meeting him. He noticed her, he saw her, he knew her – in ways that nobody else had even tried to. It hadn't escaped her notice that the same people who scrutinised her had taken an instant liking to Jack. He hadn't even had to try, so effortless was his affability and his charm. She noticed how drawn they had been to him – something that almost endeared them to her, in a way; their fondness of Jack was what they had in common, and despite how they treated her how could she be surprised? How could she blame them?

"It's so easy for you, Jack. Everyone loves you. You could charm the birds out of the trees. . ."

She could feel his grin against her cheek and hear the smirk in his voice as he kissed down her neck and whispered against her ear huskily,

"Could I charm you back into bed?"

She almost moaned involuntarily, the intensity of his words overcoming her.

"Jack. . ." She groaned with a smile on her face, feeling her eyes roll back, all of a sudden breathless. She felt her knees buckle, melting against his embrace and intoxicated by his closeness.

He hummed in response, his teeth grazing her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This part is rated M (higher, tbh) ****for explicit sexual content. It gets pretty graphic, so read at your own discretion. As always, let me know what you think! The whole story will be about 4 or 5 chapters long, so don't think this is the end by any means!**

* * *

"You're wearing far too many clothes, Miss. Let's get you undressed. . ." He nipped at the skin on her neck, heat practically permeating off him. His hands wandered to her lower back, tugging at the sash on her dress.

Feeling the sash untie and the dress loosen somewhat, she rolled her eyes at his persistence and laughed to herself.

"Would you believe I used to be the shyest girl when it came to taking off my clothes?" She grinned as his lips travelled up the column of her neck. "I couldn't think of anything worse than being nude. Servants used to dress me and I hated it. I was so embarrassed. When you sketched me, I thought I might die. I was afraid you would think I looked funny."

He laughed softly, his breath tickling her ear and causing an outbreak of goosebumps to cover her forearms. "You? Look funny? Oh no, Rose, Rose, Rose. . ." His lips travelled back up to hers, emphasising each word with a kiss. "You sweet, wonderful thing." She giggled against his onslaught of kisses, now showering her face. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. Even before I fell in love with you I thought you were gorgeous. When I was try'na get you to come back over the rail I could barely think I was so blown away by your beauty. . ."

She smiled. "God, I love you." She pushed some hair from his eyes, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Of course, nowadays it seems I struggle to keep my clothes on around you. . ."

His eyes glazed over with desire, biting his lip as though trying to suppress his hunger for her.

"Well that's what you get for running off with an uncouth steerage boy, huh?" He whispered against her lips, closing the space between them.

"Best decision I ever made," She smiled into his kiss, which started slow and built in intensity. Within minutes, Rose was struggling to match his assertive kisses with her own as he brought a hand to cup her face and explored her mouth forcefully. Perhaps 'forceful' was the wrong word - Rose didn't feel forced and she knew that all it took was one signal from her and he would stop without question or complaint, but it was a word that described the power of Jack's kisses as he fought for dominance and won, taking control.

Rose heard a moan escape her throat, unaware of her surroundings as she lost herself. Suddenly they were moving, his hands on her hips backing her into the bedroom. . .

His hungry kisses didn't stop until he'd gently pushed her over to the bed, lowering her down and hovering over her. His fingers unfastened the buttons on her dress, kissing softly the skin that was revealed with every unfastening.

"Oh Rose," He whispered in the darkness, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

He slipped her dress off, feeling himself salivate at the sight of her creamy midriff and the way her breasts bounced in her sheer camisole. He groaned with want as his eyes drank in her body.

He lifted her onto his lap so she was straddling him in her undergarments, her curls covering his face like a curtain as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Her fumbling hands eagerly found his suspenders, sliding them off his broad shoulders and immediately working on his shirt buttons. With some assistance, she slipped his shirt off, craning her neck to kiss the golden skin that was uncovered.

As their mouths melted into one another's, she felt his hardness press against her crotch. His fingers fiddled with the lace on her camisole, cupping her through the thin material.

"Let me see," he pleaded, groaning impatiently, earning a quiet laugh from her as he helped lift the garment over her head.

Totally nude except for her silk bloomers which were dampening against his hardness, he pulled away from her lips to stare in amazement at her body. Despite having done this enough times to memorise every last freckle she had, her body still took his breath away as though it was the first time he'd seen it. Not wanting to waste any more time, he gently laid her backwards onto the bed so he was hovering over her. Their bare torsos pressed together, Rose moved underneath him, rolling their clothed hips together in attempt to relieve the building pressure. He groaned, feeling her legs spread and wrap around his hips.

Suddenly Jack's hands drifted down her to the hem of her bloomers and Rose felt breathless, her wanton desire and craving for him overtaking all restraint. She wanted his talented tongue in between her thighs; wanted his long artist fingers inside her and rubbing against that spot that only he knew - that only he could awaken - gifting her wave after wave of divine, violent ecstasy. Did other men satisfy their women in such ways? Did they even know such heavenly pleasure existed? She'd never heard – or even imagined – that people did such things, but _of course_, Jack in all his worldly knowledge would be different. She felt the warmth radiating between her legs as he tugged the silky garment down.

"Jack, please," she squirmed underneath him impatiently.

Jack stilled for a moment and looked down at her, no matter how many times they had done this – no matter how many social barriers they had broken – he never failed to marvel at the hunger and desperation evident in her eyes during their most intimate moments: this precious, regal goddess wanted him; _him_! That in itself was astounding, and he smiled at her – eyes full of adoration – as her insatiable desire for him radiated from every pore.

"Lemme just look at you a little longer," he whispered, cherishing her.

She blushed and met his eyes shyly, before her gaze travelled down to his lips and back again several times, wordlessly signalling to him what she wanted. Jack's kisses were slow and indulgent; taking his time as he coaxed her now-swollen lips open with his tongue, tracing along her bottom lip as he kissed her deeply.

"I love you," he whispered against her perfect mouth before moving his lips down her neck. His hands cupped her breasts, feeling her nipples harden underneath his touch.

She sighed his name, watching him lovingly. The way he gazed at her body – focused and intense – the look he got in his eyes whenever he was drawing. His every touch was full of meaning and purpose; as though simply touching her was the most extraordinary privilege, which in his mind, it was.

His mouth closed around her nipple as his hands drifted lower and brushed against the apex of her legs, roughly adding pressure as he rubbed her slick Venus mound.

"Wet for me already, huh?" He glanced upwards, smirking as she threw her head back, a breathless whimper escaping her full lips.

She blushed. Truth be known, she was constantly in a state of arousal around him. All he had to do was look at her and she felt weak with want for him, for this. . .

He moved down the voluptuous frame of her body, placing open-mouthed kisses over her navel, watching as her porcelain skin glistened and tensed underneath his ministrations. He heard her sudden hitch in breath as he kissed lower, and lower still; driven by a primal need to see and hear and feel and taste her unravelling in agonising pleasure underneath him.

"You're so beautiful. . ."

Their eyes met as he pushed open her thighs slowly; teasing her with a few soft kisses before lowering his mouth completely onto her womanhood. As his tongue darted upwards over the slit of her sacred femininity, he brought her leg to drape over his shoulder, allowing him more access as he devoured her slowly.

She remembered the first time he'd done this; how her timid shock and initial reservations had subsided, giving way to such heights of pleasure she had not even known were possible for a body to reach. Rose was learning that there were many routes one could take to the stars, and Jack was happily willing to show her all of them. The result had left her feeling even more infatuated; even more smitten with him – how that in itself was possible in the first place she did not know – only that his inexhaustible commitment to her pleasure and satisfaction filled her with a blissful and blinding gratitude. Now it was a regular prelude to their lovemaking: his insistence that she be taken care of first before he even allowed her to touch him.

Jack's tongue flicking against her sensitive nub brought her back to the present. She looked down, marvelling at his skill; his tongue flat against her most private area as he tasted her sweet nectar; relishing every jolt and sigh earned from the exploration of her inner folds. She trembled against him before throwing her head back in pleasure, succumbing to the glorious sensations he was causing.

"Say it," he hummed against her, his hot breath against her swelling desire.

"Jack. . ." She murmured his name deliciously, a serene smile on her face; letting the word roll over her tongue like sugar, loving the taste of it as it escaped her lips. She loved saying his name almost as much as he loved hearing it.

She felt him insert a finger slowly, and then two; curling them upwards and moving in a gentle rocking motion. Moaning in response; she clutched onto his hair as he began massaging that spot inside her, all the while his tongue continued it's assault on her sensitive mound, tipping her ever closer to the edge.

"Louder," he grunted against her, matching the swift flicks of his tongue to the movement of his fingers.

"Jack," she breathed out urgently, her mouth hanging open in a silent 'O' as her brows furrowed, feeling the dizzying build-up of ecstasy moments from erupting. "Don't stop, don't stop, Jack, _oh_–"

As he sped up his movements, hand and mouth never wavering, he glanced upwards; wanting – _needing_ – to watch her come, proud in the knowledge that he and he alone could satisfy her in this way. He felt her tighten around him, breathless and beautiful, her back arching in complete surrender. Her red curls thrashed about on the pillow as her hands flung up onto the bedsheets, gripping them until her knuckles turned white.

"Jack!" She cried; her voice a hushed scream, faltering as her whole body convulsed.

The stars she was floating amongst – burning brighter and hotter and closer than ever – suddenly exploded in her mind as wave after intense wave of violent pleasure wracked her body.

Jack watched as she writhed beneath his mouth, glancing upwards to study her reaction; wishing to brand the heavenly view into his memory. Her face contorted in ecstasy, her body defeated by pleasure; she was so perfectly overcome and undone. To him, there was not a more beautiful sight in the world. He had often tried to draw her like this; wanted to immortalise the image on paper, but his attempts never seemed to do the real thing justice no matter how many times he tried.

He brought his free hand up to steady her rolling hips, refusing to pull his mouth away under until he was sure that she had experienced every last ripple of pleasure from her climax. Her gasps and moans filled the room; noises he lived to hear. . . Noises he caused. . .

His hardness throbbed against his undershorts almost painfully as he watched his goddess cry out for him; her loose curls, fiery and frenzied, sticking to her forehead as she squirmed, her body proclaiming all her love and desire for him. He lapped up the last of her arousal as her movements slowed; kissing down her inner-thigh, the heightened sensitivity making her jolt slightly.

Moments later, she opened her eyes and looked down at him adoringly, a hint of bewilderment twinkling in her eyes. Did there exist another man on the planet as wonderful as him? As gifted and skilled and as concerned with their lover's pleasure as he was? Feeling a sudden rush of appreciation and gratitude, her arms instinctively reached for him.

"Jack,"

He kissed back up her body, his face alight with the most beautiful grin. He loved satisfying her. As his lips reached hers, he paused, feeling beneath him her thighs tremble and her abdomen twitch from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She panted hoarsely, trying to steady her breathing, blushing up at him.

"You alright?" He smiled knowingly, satisfied with himself for yet again providing her with pleasures she'd never before dreamt possible.

She nodded eagerly with a shy smile. "Thank you,"

He chuckled softly. "What ever for?"

"Just. . . you. That. Everything. I love you,"

His heart melted and he kissed her, bringing his hands to cup her face in total adoration.

Suddenly, Rose felt an urgent need to be one with him. She reached between their bodies and unbuttoned his pants. He adjusted his position from between her legs, kneeling on the bed as he felt her reach a finger to trace the light hairs disappearing below his waistline. He groaned breathlessly, shoving the corduroy slacks and undershorts off his limber frame, before placing a kiss on her thigh as he opened her legs and settled back inbetween them.

Their eyes locked erotically as Rose felt his naked body, reaching a hand down to caress his hardness; wrapping her fingers around him and tugging at his length, earning a low groan from him.

"I want you." She whispered against his lips as she stroked him faster. "Make love to me, Jack."

They both gasped as he entered her slowly. He stilled, controlling the urge to begin before she was ready. She felt his hipbones against her upper thighs as she wrapped her legs higher around his waist, urging him in deeper and taking all of him. He bit his lip; letting out a breathless groan as he felt her warm velvet walls envelop him, constricting around him inch by inch, the feeling unlike anything else on earth.

She opened her eyes, looking deep into his as their souls fused. A pure moment passed between them then, their eyes unflinchingly acknowledging the truth: the passionate nature of their love; so devotional it bordered on worship, so enduring it defied the constraints of space and time – of social classes and the sea.

She sighed blissfully, her hands caressing his face gently before finding their way into his tousled hair. She loved the feeling of being filled with him, of him moving inside her. The love of her life; their bodies as one, it was the closest thing to heaven on this mortal coil. He looked like an angel hovering above her; and so intense was his gaze of sheer, unbridled love for her that she almost wanted to cry.

He went slowly at first, grinding his hips in a way that caused his member to stroke against that spot inside her. He savoured the sounds she was making; sighing in pleasure as their bodies moved in steady unison.

"Jack, faster," she groaned breathlessly. "Please,"

Hearing her beg made him shiver. He deliberately went against her demands - wanting to drag out the pleasure for as long as possible. He was going agonisingly slowly now, earning deeper moans from her. He kissed down her throat, feeling the hum of her voice vibrate against his lips.

"Jack," came her desperate whimper. "Please. . ."

He raised his head to look at her: the sight intoxicating. Not wanting to deprive his love of what she wanted any longer, he adjusted his position; snapping his hips to hers faster, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. His change of pace was met with euphoric, breathless chirps escaping her open mouth; brows furrowed in ecstasy as her pleasure began its ascent for the second time.

"Yes, yes–" She breathed.

"You like that, huh?" He nipped at her neck, voice thick with desire. She moaned gently.

She cried out, nodding eagerly as she threw her hands to land on the pillows above her head in surrender, taking every inch of him. "I love it, oh, I love it. . ."

He kissed back up to her face, peppering kisses along her jawline, before pulling his head back to look at her. Sensing his eyes on her, hers fluttered open to meet his shyly. He smiled that irresistible lop-sided grin at her; the one she'd fallen irrevocably and irreversibly in love with onboard their ship of dreams. He closed the space between them, his lips capturing hers in a deep kiss. Lost in the splendour of each other; their hands found one anothers; fingers intertwining romantically above her head, lacing together in synchronicity with every thrust of their hips.

"More. . ." She whined breathlessly. "Don't stop! Don't stop, oh, _Jack_–"

The bed started to creak as Jack's thrusts increased in speed. They moaned breathlessly into each other's mouths; tongues fighting for dominance, Jack's teeth tugging on her bottom lip teasingly. Faster still, the headboard began to slam against the wall – their activities surely obvious to neighbouring occupants - but they were too far gone to care. He pulled back from her lips with gritted teeth as he raised his head to look down and watch her magnificent body in awe; the electrifying sight of her ample breasts, taut and full, springing up and down on her chest as her body received each of his brisk thrusts. It was exquisite for Jack – his eyes watched every bounce of her bosom with a captivated desire and appreciation, both as an artist and as a lover. He leant down to suckle her left nipple; feeling her breast jerk against his mouth from the force of his movements.

He kissed back up to her lips hungrily, his free hand drifting down her body, feeling her soft flesh – softer than anybody else's he'd ever known – and seeking out the pleasure spot in between her legs. He rubbed her in circular motions, his thumb pressing against her pubic mound.

Rose pulled away from his lips to cry out, glancing downwards at their lower bodies and being met with the erotic sight of his large manhood slamming into her. She tore her hand from his grasp to to grip the headboard as the pleasure began to peak towards its explosion again.

He showered her face in frenzied kisses before cupping her cheek, prompting her to look into his eyes as the first waves of climax washed over them both. His blue eyes were a bottomless ocean of undying love and devotion, slightly darkened with desire yet softened by the divine cusp of overwhelming pleasure. He fixed his gaze on hers, wanting to witness the raw love in her eyes as their souls reached their peak at the same time. As he felt her walls tighten around him for the second time, Jack watched her face in wonder as she maintained eye contact for as long as she was physically able to, before the pleasure overtook her body and caused her head to loll back in uncontrollable ecstasy; her eyelids fluttering and her luscious lips yelping out one word in the darkness, "Jack, Jack, Jack. . !"

His movements became erratic, his body involuntarily reacting to hers as his own release quickly followed. He groaned loudly against her neck, his body trembling, gasping her name tenderly. Her name on his lips was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, and she wanted to hear him say it again and again and again.

* * *

Basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, they lay together; bodies still intertwined under the tangled sheets. Rose was curled on her side, her left cheek pressed against the golden tan of his bare chest. She sighed contentedly, feeling her eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion from the pleasure only he could give washed over her. Placing a kiss on his chest tenderly, she felt the thud of his heart against her lips; immediately soothed by the steady beat and by his fingers dancing across her back and through the tangle of her red curls.

Similarly, Jack felt himself grow weary, both from having been awake since the early hours of the morning as well as from their previous activities. He yawned, fully sated, realising with welcoming relief that tomorrow was Friday which meant he was only contracted to work in the afternoon, and then it would be the weekend. He tightened his grip around Rose's shoulder, pulling her up closer into his arms and placing a loving kiss on her forehead. She smiled to herself as she felt his free hand find hers on his chest and lace their fingers together romantically. Wanting him closer, she brought her leg to lazily wrap around his hip as she nestled into him.

"It's funny. Even when we're not making love, our bodies still find ways to tangle together," She sighed as he chuckled in response.

And it was true - their bodies really did find ways to touch, sometimes subconsciously and even in the most innocent of settings. She found comfort in his hands: the way he'd rest them on her lower back and hold her close when they were in public, the way he'd brush past her in their cramped kitchen - holding her hips and gently moving her so he could get by: every touch of Jack's was full of care and tenderness.

Rose always found herself marvelling after they made love. Was it so wonderful for everyone? She had always been told to expect at best indifference and at worst discomfort when it came to intercourse - but neither of those emotions belonged to her experience of intimacy with Jack. . . and now that she knew the truth, Rose felt like she'd stumbled upon the best kept secret of humankind. Though she still did not understand: why had something so incredible been kept from her?

"Jack, is it always like that?"

He looked at her, confused.

"When we make love it's. . ." She paused, trying to find the words. "When I got engaged I was told– _Warned. . ._ To prepare myself for. . . Well, for a completely different experience than to what I feel with you."

He smirked. "Good or bad?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like you have to ask."

He chuckled, kissing her forehead.

"But," she continued. "Why did nobody tell me the truth? If I knew the best part of life was still ahead of me, I might have thought twice about jumping off that ship. . ." she teased.

Jack laughed again, his eyebrows raised at her candidacy. "That good, huh?" He joked, before a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Well it's not that way for everyone. Maybe they didn't lie to you, maybe that was just their honest experience,"

Rose frowned.

"So some women never feel what I feel when we. . .?" She was almost sad for them: her intimate moments with Jack were consistently nothing short of miraculous.

"No, not at all. I remember prostitutes in Paris hated it, they would talk about having to fake it with certain clients. Pleasing a woman is an art not many men take the time to master," he teased, raising his chin in mock self-importance.

"You sound sure of yourself." She smirked.

He laughed, before he looked down into her eyes. "Oh I am."

She giggled at him in mock disbelief, "My Jack? Arrogant?"

He lowered his voice, still piercing her gaze with his own. "I know what I'm good at is all." After a beat, his grin returned, "And you provide excellent feedback every time,"

Rose blushed at the double entendre, feeling her heart race. Such was the nature of their insatiable appetite for one another: not even an hour after making love and already drunk with desire all over again.

"If most men don't concern themselves with women's pleasure, then why do you care about mine?"

"I don't know any other way." He shrugged. "I'm in love with you. I like making you feel good. For me, that's the best part."

Rose nestled into him, a smug grin plastered on her face. "Well aren't I lucky to have such a skilled and selfless lover?"

And she really was - she dreaded to think how easy it would have been to fall into a dull marriage with someone who had a total disregard for her feelings, physical or otherwise. Fleetingly, images of Jack with other women crept into her mind and she felt a twinge of curiosity. Surprisingly, the topic of conversation had never come up: it had been a sort of unspoken understanding that Jack was experienced, but they had never talked about it.

"Were there many before me?" She asked quietly.

He shifted. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable talking about his sexual history, it was just that he felt it was all so inconsequential now. Rose had changed everything and he could barely imagine life before her.

"No, not really. Three." He spoke neutrally, not knowing if he should offer more information.

Rose didn't react outwardly, but was surprised at herself when she felt the faintest hint of jealousy. "Did you love any of them?"

Jack thought about the question. Grace had been his childhood best friend, and he had truly thought that what he felt for her had been love at the time. In retrospect, though, he realised it was a naive and immature infatuation that perhaps could have grown in potential, had he been willing to spend his entire life in Chippewa Falls. In 1909, he'd found himself in Paris. Marguerite was a lonely widow in her mid-thirties who'd lost her husband a few years prior; her and Jack initially bonded over their own experiences of grief and loss. Although they never loved in a passionate sense, they cared and understood each other, and had shared many a bottle of wine as they tried to fill the voids of their collective sadness. Jack had drawn her a few times, and in return Marguerite had taught him all she knew about the right ways to please a woman. When they made love, she imagined her husband. Camille was a fiesty and eccentric artist who spent her days perched with her easel in Montmartre. Her personality was similar to Rose's in the sense that she was broad minded and free-spirited. Jack had felt himself falling for her, only to be continually let down by her grand philosophical ideas of polyamoury and aromanticism; it was not simply that she didn't believe in marriage - Jack would have been able to understand that - it was that they were incompatible on a fundamental level: she didn't believe in love, and she told him so.

"I thought I had," he answered truthfully, not mentioning any specific details. "Before I met you and found out what real love was."

"I suppose I should be grateful them for teaching you everything you know now, but I still don't like the thought of you with other women. . ." She sighed, nestling into him.

"I don't, either. I can't imagine being with anyone else now. Not after you. No one could compare."

Rose rolled her eyes. She may have been an inexperienced virgin when they had met, but she was not stupid; she knew the company Jack had kept in Paris, and his experience was more than apparent. "Jack, please. I highly doubt I'm the best you've ever had–"

"But you are. It's never felt the way it feels with you."

Her cheeks burned. She looked up into his eyes shyly. "Really?"

"Really. I never knew what was so special about sex before I met you. The way I feel when we. . . I can't even explain it."

He didn't have to. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She felt it too.

"-Our bodies just understand each other. . . In a way I didn't even know was possible. . . I've never been a religious guy, but when I make love to you it's the closest I've ever felt to a spiritual connection. I finally know what all the old masters meant in their paintings about ecstasy,"

"Oh, Jack. You're everything." She nuzzled her head against his chest. "I love you."

He reached a thumb under her chin and tilted it up to meet his gaze and he argued, "I love you more."

Rose opened her mouth to defiantly state that _no, he didn't and no, he couldn't possibly_ when suddenly a knock at their front door disturbed the peaceful quiet. Her eyes opened when he groaned and shifted his body, the springs and wooden frame creaking loudly in protest as he moved to the edge of the bed and slipped on his underwear.

"I got it. Rest, angel." He kissed her strawberry-scented head as he left their bedroom and walked across the living space towards the front door, unlatching it.

Jack's face dropped when he saw Marvin's disgruntled expression. He sighed, immediately knowing the only reason why the burly older man would be outside their door with a clipboard in hand at such a late hour.

"Jack, I just told you earlier-"

"Alright, alright, I know," Jack grumbled, hands raised in quiet surrender. "Look, Rose is sleeping. Can this wait until morning?"

"I gave you an inch, Jack. I didn't push to see your marriage license, despite the rumours. I've just had the fourth complaint this week. I have no choice but to give you a formal warning, I run a respectable establishment and-"

Rose appeared in the doorway now, fastening her silk dressing gown tightly around her waist and watching the exchange between Jack and Marvin with curious eyes. Marvin nodded to her discreetly, prompting Jack to turn around and see her: hair wild and untamed; her curls flowing freely past her bare clavicles, cheeks flushed from both satisfaction and sleepiness. He almost lost his breath for a second, still in disbelief that such a goddess had chosen him.

"Sweetheart, it's nothing, go back to bed." Jack coaxed, looking at her with sympathetic eyes, desperately not wanting her to hear Marvin's grievances that could risk causing her distress.

Feeling a little awkward about the situation and not wanting to overstay his intrusion, Marvin scribbled something onto his clipboard before tearing the paper off and handing it to Jack.

"What is it?" She asked meekly, aiming the question more towards Marvin than to Jack.

"Rose-"

"A formal warning, Miss. If you receive another, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to ask you kids to move on."

Rose walked closer now, Marvin becoming noticeably flustered as he tried to avoid eye contact with the stunning redhead.

"What did we do? We're fine tenants–" She felt the frustration rise, immediately assuming one of the neighbouring women had deliberately said something to make life difficult.

Jack could hear the subtle exasperation building in her voice.

"Sweetheart, I'll explain a minute," Jack whispered, attempting to calm her by stroking her curls.

This would have been enough to reassure her, had she not noticed the glaring embarrassment plainly evident on Marvin's red face. She frowned, snatching the document away from Jack and read what it said.

"Rose-"

"Noise complaints?" She asked Marvin innocently before her eyes widened in realisation –– and in horror.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sorry in advance for another chapter full of 'sickening over-description'. I tried to tone down the sex, but it's still very much M rated. I'm sorry. :(**

"I can't believe you kept that from me. You really think I'm this delicate little flower who can't handle anything bad, don't you, Jack?"

Jack looked into her eyes firmly, perching on the arm of their sofa. "No. I don't." He ran a hand through his hair. "But it's not like that, Rose. I just– It didn't seem worth bringing up after how sad you've been about them. It's so pointless. We aren't even staying here permanently anyway."

"But you didn't think to tell me that people – _those_ people of _all_ people – can hear when we... Well, when we're–" she stuttered, refusing to meet his eyes. "You're not touching me again."

"Don't say that, baby." He softened, frowning at the thought and reaching to bring her onto his lap.

"I'm serious. We shouldn't..." She fretted, worrying her thumb nail between her teeth.

"You don't mean that..." He pouted, his hands resting against her bare thighs through the parting of her silk dressing gown.

She groaned in shame. "I do! Why would you come near me knowing people could hear everything? I'm so embarrassed, Jack."

"You're acting like this is my fault. . ."

"It's entirely your fault!" She struggled against him gently, moving so she was standing now. Amid the outrage in her teal-green eyes was a flash of humour, and he felt relieved. "Especially when you–" She fought the blush creeping onto her cheeks, "–_Encourage_ it the way you do."

"I didn't hear you complaining." He reached for her, missing the contact. "Neither did the whole of West 14th Street by the sounds of it, Miss. . ." he whispered against her collarbone as his lips ghosted over her skin.

She gasped audibly, looking at him, mortified. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He quickly moved a hand to stroke her hair appeasingly. "Now, personally, I love the sound of you calling out my name all night long. . . I'm just not sure the neighbours share my enthusiasm for how loud you get is all. . ."

He spoke the words with a playful smirk on his face, but the hint of jest in his demeanour was not enough to prevent her jaw from dropping in horror.

"Jack!" She cried indignantly.

"Rose!" He hushed, whispering. "You heard the man, one more complaint and we're out." His grin broke then, and he chuckled as she hid her face in his chest, muffling her humiliated sighs and concealing the burning of her cheeks. Seconds later, he lifted her head and kissed her.

"Don't be embarrassed," he whispered, inches from her mouth. "You're so beautiful when you come."

Rose glared at him again, her cheeks bright red. "Stop it, Jack." she scolded.

He chuckled. "Well, well, well, that's not a phrase I hear you use too often. . ." He grinned, reaching for her as she pulled away from him in embarrassment. She groaned to herself, hiding her flushed face in her hands.

He brought her into his arms, kissing her head gently. "Alright, alright, I'll stop, I'll stop," He laughed softly, knowing he was forgiven when he felt her arms reach up his torso and tentatively around his neck, closing the space between them. "I should've told you about the complaints. It was wrong of me to keep that, or anything, from you. I'm sorry." His voice was gentle now, and he looked at her sincerely, his hands cupping her face. "I just didn't want you feeling any worse about anything. I know how strong you are, Rose, I do, and I love that about you, but I still find myself wanting to protect you from anything that might make you unhappy. Even something as stupid as a few noise complaints."

She tried to retain the stern look on her face but felt her heart melting underneath his gaze. Then, remembering the insinuation behind the complaints issued to them, she cringed again; groaning under her breath and screwing up her face.

"I can't believe they've heard us. . ." She whispered. "God, what they must think of me. . ."

Jack looked at her, urgent concern flashing in his eyes. "Doesn't matter." He cut her off, his hands caressing her red curls. "What they think doesn't matter. Besides, you weren't acting alone, it's as much my doing - more so, because I already knew. You've done nothing wrong, you hear me?"

"I can't wait to move from here, Jack."

Wishing he could do better for the love of his life, he pulled her into a tight hug, inhaling the scent of rosewater from her hair and skin.

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

* * *

Jack watched in adoration as she slept, observing every content sigh that accompanied the rise and fall of her chest. She was bare but partially covered, the thin sheets resting just above the porcelain flesh of her waist; the white bedspread contrasting with her blood-red tresses, untamed and sprawling over the pillows. He tilted his head in awe as he observed the serene look on her face; the hint of a half-smile on her kiss-bruised lips, the faint indentation of relaxed laughter lines around her eyes and dimples as she breathed peacefully. She was curled on her side facing him, her arm outstretched and loosely draped around his waist where she'd reached for him in her sleep.

It took everything in him not to kiss her right then. He felt a sudden loveburst wash over his mind, soul, and body; so intense that he sighed loudly to himself and pondered the question he often found himself asking whenever he looked at her: what on God's green earth had he done to deserve her?

Unable to keep himself from reaching out to touch her - if only to prove to himself that she was, infact, real - he lifted a finger to faintly trace along her jawline and up to her cheekbones. Careful not to wake her, he followed down the outline of her nose with the tip of his finger, flittering over the peak of her Cupid's bow and ghosting over the beauty mark framing those perfect, parted lips. Lips he'd stained with his kisses more times than he could count, but still not nearly enough times to ever satisfy his unquenchable desire.

He travelled back in his mind to the moment he'd first laid eyes on her from across the segregated decks of Titanic. It had hit him like a ton of bricks: the magnetic awakening he'd felt when she'd appeared, without warning, like an angel from some poetic fantasy. It was as though the skies had opened and stars had fallen and waves had crashed and his whole life had been leading up to that single moment in which fate was decided. As their eyes met and she glanced away - and then back at him a second time - it was like a volcano in heaven had erupted and all of that celestial lava had set his heart afire. Love at first sight, he realised now. Not a thing in the world could compare to it because never had he seen something so magnificent; that was the best word he could think of to describe her beauty. If Aphrodite herself had descended upon him at that moment, he would not have noticed or even spared a glance. Nothing could have compared to that tempting, haunting, glorious splendour that was just too blinding to try to move to paper. He didn't even attempt the transfer because in that moment his skills were nothing. They were pathetic in comparison to the siren with fiery curls and alabaster skin, the one who was bathed in the golden sheen of midday on the North Atlantic.

The irony that the very same woman was now here in his apartment, sleeping soundly in his arms made him smile with pride and gratitude. He rested his head back onto the pillow as he scooted closer to her, nuzzling the tip of his nose against hers in a tender eskimo kiss. Her lips pouted in her sleep, and he closed the space between them, kissing her tenderly.

He found himself gathering her in his arms and pulling her towards him as she sighed in protest. Sleepily, she murmured a complaint that he couldn't understand, until she blindly felt his chest and pressed herself against him. She was so precious to him that he couldn't let her go, even when his arm ached from holding her so tightly.

"For years I felt incomplete," He whispered to her sleeping form as she stirred slightly, burrowing into his arms further. "Like a part of my soul was missing. I just assumed it was the grief from losing my folks... But-" He pushed a stray curl from her eyes with his forefinger. "When I met you, it was like finally having a home for the first time in five years. You don't know it, but you saved me too, Rose." He kissed her lips again, tears threatening to fall as he thought of all the times she'd credited him with saving her, never knowing that she too had rescued him from a life of mediocre affections and unattached wandering; from a life without the indescribable and unconditional love of his soulmate. "You saved me, too."

Then, something miraculous happened. Her lips curved into a sweet, soft smile.

"I love you, Jack. . ."

* * *

**Friday, 14th June 1912**

The break of dawn brought with it the first glimmers of daylight, seeping in from the window through the apartment's threadbare curtains. She reached out to touch him, his blond hair and golden skin illuminated by the morning light.

He groped for her as she kissed him awake, half drunk with desire and half with sleep. His eyes squinted in the sun as he chuckled under his breath, his wide grin revealing eye dimples. He was breathtaking. Rose had been brought up to believe men were cold and hard; rigid in body and in mind, but Jack was the softest, warmest man she had ever known. His mouth tasted like honey, his hair felt like silk; she ran her fingers through it as their warm bodies shifted beneath the covers.

She wasn't sure how she got to be straddling his hips.

This was a new kind of exhilarating high for Jack, seeing her from this angle; her body moving on top of his, the way her full, pert breasts bounced at his eye level. His large hands cupped them eagerly, feeling her nipples harden under his touch. He kneaded her soft flesh, his mouth never far behind. She sighed, seeking out his hardness beneath the covers and rolling her hips against him. As Jack brought his lust-coated eyes to meet hers, all of a sudden she felt in equal parts ridiculous and wanton for making love in this way. He could sense she was holding back.

"Don't worry about how it looks, baby. Just go with it. Don't think."

"Oh—!" A breathless moan escaped her parted lips, feeling as he angled his hips and entered her slowly; hitting that pleasurable spot inside her from this different angle.

"Shhhh," he smirked, whispering against her perfect lips before kissing her; muffling the sounds escaping her mouth.

Making love in the golden glow; bathing the outline of her alabaster body in light; the red, pink, and orange hues of early morning emblazoning and intensifying the colour of her fiery hair.

"God you're so beautiful,"

She craned her head backwards to one side, giving him chance to take advantage and assault her bare neck in open-mouthed kisses. He groaned into the crook of her neck, one hand holding her hip and the other massaging her breast.

"I love you, I love you," he whispered against her skin.

Rose grasped his hair, pulling him up and throwing her arms around his neck, relishing the feeling of him filling her so deeply. He kissed her slowly, his tongue seeking out her own. She moved faster, moaning as he brought a hand to cup her face tenderly. All of a sudden, stars exploded in her mind as she felt her climax furiously erupt; waves of pleasure spreading from her core and enveloping every inch of her body. She tore away from his lips, calling his name breathlessly as she threw her head back in unspeakable pleasure. Jack gasped, feeling her walls tighten and pulse around him, verging him closer to his own release.

"Rose," he groaned, voice low and husky against her neck.

Her movements started to become tired and clumsy as her pleasure peaked. Jack kissed her forcefully, biting her lip, before taking her by the waist and tipping her backwards carefully, laying her down where she was. She watched him, her eyes coated with delirious ecstasy. He repositioned himself on top of her and began snapping his hips rapidly to hers, savouring the sound of her gratified sighs. He grunted, thrusting hard and fast, only slowing when he heard the brass bed frame start to rattle against the wall.

Rose cried out as she felt his fingers wander down her body to rub that delicious spot inbetween her legs. Moments later, she felt her pleasure peaking for the second time. What was happening? Was it meant to happen more than once? Was that normal?

"Oh my god, Jack—" She shivered, before a breathless gasp escaped her lips, partially in disbelief. Jack smiled, bringing his hand to cover her mouth gently as she came apart underneath him again and again.

* * *

A few hours later after their impromptu morning lovemaking, it was 8am. Jack had stayed awake, unlike Rose, who had drifted back into a sated slumber. He stood at the window, watching the morning bustle as people made their way to work in the same monotonous routine they did every day.

As he glanced over at Rose, seeing her gorgeous hair contrast against the white bedsheets, he felt a sense of contentment soothe him. He was so pleased to have been given Friday mornings off, allowing him more time to stay home and be lazy with her — whether that meant making love in the golden glow of early sunlight or enjoying each other's company over a proper breakfast. Already having fulfilled one of those possibilities, his thoughts drifted to the other. Silently, he entered the kitchen. He found a pan and put it on the stove which he lit with a match so flames erupted under the burner. He opened the icebox and quietly took out a handful of eggs, cooking them with ease. Then, he got the bread from the breadbox and carefully toasted it over another burner. When everything was ready, the smell sizzled throughout the small apartment. He served breakfast up on separate plates, placing them and two glasses of juice onto a tray which he carried, tottering, into the bedroom.

He sighed when he saw her. She was bare, the thin white sheet falling just below her breasts.

He put the food at the foot of the bed and leaned over her, sprinkling soft kisses onto her face. She stirred, stretching, until her arms suddenly clasped around his neck. Her eyes fluttered open like budding magnolia leaves against a blue sky as she giggled quietly.

"Mmm. . . I love it when you wake me up like that," she whispered, smiling happily.

"And I do so love wakin' you up like that," he answered almost inaudibly, not wanting to break the morning silence.

He caressed her smooth, fine cheek with his callused hands of an artist. She pressed her own hand over his.

"Hungry?"

As he asked the question, she looked towards the foot of the bed, the smell of food reaching her nose.

"Oh!" She gasped. "Jack you didn't have to!"

"I know. I wanted to." He smiled at her reaction, kissing the corner of her mouth.

* * *

"I feel so silly. I've spent all morning with you yet I know as soon as you're out of the door I'll miss you," Rose sighed, ruffling his hair as he stood in front of her, one arm around her waist and the other carrying his portfolio.

He smiled that impossibly handsome grin at her before pressing his lips to hers, teasing her with two short pecks.

"Wanna walk with me downstairs?"

She raised her chin, speaking with her mocking haughty tone. "I'll consider the offer once I'm given a proper kiss goodbye." She whispered the last word against his lips, desperately needing to close the space between them. She felt him smile into the kiss as her hands found his suspenders, travelling up the length of his torso to interlock around his neck. She gasped, pulling him closer, not able to get enough.

"Do they really need you to work today?" She breathed, feeling his hands run up and down her upper arms, making her shiver.

Jack saw the desire in her eyes, almost pleadingly, and it took everything inside him to not carry her back to bed then and there.

"Did I not fully satisfy your appetite this morning, Miss?" He kissed her, slow and soft, smiling at her reaction to his double intendré.

She blushed under his gaze. "You know you did." Then she groaned. "It doesn't matter, though. Jack, we could make love all day and I still don't think I could ever get enough. Especially when all you have to do is _look_ at me and I feel my knees giving way. It's like I— Like I'm drunk from wanting you. . ." She spoke as though she were trying to understand her own conflicting emotions. It certainly wasn't ladylike to be throwing herself at him like this; she could hear her mother's disapproving voice commenting on the inappropriate and unacceptable things they did together, but at the same time, she didn't care. It felt so wonderful; he made everything feel so wonderful.

He nodded knowingly, muttering an "I know," under his breath. He knew, he knew too well. He brought his hands to cup her face, gazing at her with such intense love it almost took her breath away.

"God," He sighed, looking at her in wonder, struggling to believe how it was all possible. "How'd I get so lucky, huh?"

* * *

Rose had walked with Jack downstairs to the foyer, avoiding Marvin's eyes as he peered at them from over the top of his newspaper, sitting at his desk.

Jack had embraced her, placing a soft but chaste kiss onto her lips, ignoring the curious stares from residents coming and going through the building's entrance doors. He could sense that she was agitated and tense, so had placed his hands on her shoulders and reassured her with the conviction behind his unwavering, soul-seeing eyes of blue that nothing any one of these people said or thought mattered. She had felt a slight weight lift at that moment, realising she had never trusted a human more.

She watched until he turned the street corner and disappeared, hugging herself where his arms had been.

She was just about to go back upstairs when a gaggle of loud, unpleasant voices disrupted the silence, approaching from the descending staircase, out of sight but unfortunately not out of earshot. The building's reception hall was a large but barren room, where voices echoed loudly off the cracked walls.

"Harriet heard them again last night."

"Heard what, exactly?"

"_Them_. You _know . . _."

"I mean, really. Does that girl have no shame?"

"They're not even married, you know. Neither of them wear a ring—"

Rose's face burned with humiliation and anger. She took a deep breath as she braced herself, hearing the voices grow louder and anticipating the imminent approach of the women, who would soon appear from around the corner of the foyer's staircase.

The three women, each one older than Rose by at least ten years, stopped in their tracks when they saw her. Visibly embarrassed by their social faux pas, they remained at the top of the staircase, looking at each other and trying to stifle their giggles.

Rose said nothing, but glared at them with a sort of dignified vexation. They remained where they were, and she, not wanting to move another step closer to them, turned on her heel back towards the main entrance. Her red hair and graceful posture garnered the attention of everyone in the room as always, and she walked with feigned confidence out of the building; head held high and countenance unaffected. She heard the sudden eruption of laughter from behind, but missed the looks of embittered disdain.

As she walked down the sidewalk towards the fruit and vegetable market stalls, she passed a group of men whose eyes sordidly scanned her body; lingering over the swell of her breasts, sniggering as they whispered amongst themselves about the former first-class lady _and her bit of rough._

She crossed the street, hugging her arms over her chest, feeling exposed and somewhat ashamed. What had she expected though, really, after the way she had been acting? Her mother's harsh voice returned. _You have no one to blame but yourself._


	4. Chapter 4

"Rose?" Jack called throughout the apartment, loving the sound of her name on his tongue, just as he always had; the name of his flower.

He dropped the bag of supplies he had been carrying by the front door and kicked off his scuffed boots, knowing full well she would make him pick them up later.

As he walked into their living room, he couldn't help but smile; his heart soaring as he took in the scene in front of him. Rose lay there on the sofa, outstretched, her face calm and serene as she slept. Her lips were parted slightly and she had an arm hanging over the edge where a book she'd been reading had dropped onto the floor mid-slumber.

Jack reminded himself for the umpteenth time that this angel was real, and furthermore, that she was his — that she'd chosen him. He smiled his wide, lop-sided grin; acknowledging without reservation how hopelessly in love with her he was. Absentmindedly, he yearned for August: the fifth was to be her eighteenth birthday - meaning they could be legally wed then, and he was so thankful that they had a concrete date to look forward to; he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to wait otherwise. He knew that their bond was unbreakable – with or without the ceremony of vows and rings – but there was something about a wedding that was so profoundly absolute: the final stage to signify a union of endless love. There was more to it than that, though; there was also security, logistics. . . Once married, they would never have to worry about the prejudice that came with being an unwed couple living together; they would also never have to worry about Hockley rearing his head and forcing Rose to return to her former life.

Sighing softly, he lowered himself down to where she napped, carefully picking up the copy of Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ that had slipped from her grasp and placed it on the side table, carefully folding the corner of the page she had been reading. As his gaze fell upon her again and he watched her chest rise and fall with every tender exhalation of breath, every rousing flutter of her closed eyelids; he felt the peacefulness soothe his very soul. Months before, Jack had not believed in true love. It had simply not existed; it was a fairy tale that was frayed at the edges.

Yet, now, here she was: true love personified beyond his wildest dreams.

He placed a gentle hand on her abdomen and leant forward to kiss her ever so gently – not able to help himself. She had the most beautiful lips he'd ever seen. Reacting to his lips on hers, she stirred slightly as he leaned closer, feeling his breath tickle her neck. Automatically, even in her sleep, her lips searched hungrily for his and caught them, gently kissing him, before she fell back against the ratty cushions and blindly reached for his body.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured quietly against his chest as her eyelids fluttered open. "I wanted to get dinner ready but then I . . . I . . . I felt so tired and. . ."

He tenderly stroked her face, his eyes so loving it made her heart swell and ache, "Hey, shh, shh. . . You know I don't expect anything. I'll take care of it. Rest, sweetheart. You deserve it."

"Mmm. . ." She slid her hands up his torso, straightening his braces. "Yes well, sleep doesn't visit us much at night, does it, darling?" She giggled, arching an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He chuckled against her lips, pecking her a few times before pulling back and running a hand through her hair; his fingers tangling in her red curls; his thumb brushing over the column of her cheekbone as he gazed at her, cherishing her.

"Romeo and Juliet, huh?" He smiled, eyeing towards her book he'd placed on the table.

"It reminds me of us. . ." She blushed coyly.

Jack let out a small scoff, his broad thumbs caressing her cheeks delicately. "Our love story is far more romantic than that."

She sighed happily, stilling for a few seconds before her eyes lit up playfully. "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" She affected a dramatic tone, quoting the play. "It is the east, and _Jack-_" She giggled, throwing her arms around him. "Is the sun. . ."

He chuckled, playing along. "A Rose by any other name would _taste_ just as sweet. . ." He whispered against her lips, before showering her face and neck in frenzied kisses, muffling her delighted cries of laughter.

"Jack!"

He finally pressed his lips against hers, causing her laughter to die down as she melted underneath his embrace.

"How was your afternoon?" She asked, licking her thumb and then softly rubbing at a charcoal smudge on his cheekbone.

"Quiet enough for me to get workin' on a new piece. You wanna see?"

He was already reaching for his portfolio before she could say yes. She smiled wide, leaning her head on his shoulder lovingly, watching him intently as he scanned through his work.

He stopped, finding his latest portrait of her, which took up the centrespread of his sketchbook. She shifted closer and was met with a painting of herself in a silk kimono, the material hugging her hips and emphasising the subtle swell of her breasts, her hair flowing like red waves cascading down the valley of her torso. Jack had recently started experimenting with colour, and the blazing scarlet hues he'd used to capture her hair only made her appear even more regal. Rose studied her face; the accomplished, seductive look in her eyes – he had not painted her as a meek, subservient girl; but as a powerful, self-assured goddess of a woman, surrounded by books and art and flowers, whose eyes taunted the viewer in their sultry but determined stare — as though _daring_ the world to underestimate her. She recognised this unapologetic gaze; it could be found in most portraits Jack made of her. With a smile, she realised this was just how he saw her: her fire ablaze and all-consuming, much like his love for her.

"You just keep getting better and better," She gasped, almost in a whisper, eyes still glued to the portrait of her. "It's perfect."

He turned to her then, smiling wide as he kissed her softly. "Yes, you are."

She kissed his cheek as she watched him look at his work, his eyes glazed over with a mixture of concentration and pride; simultaneously admiring his subject matter whilst scanning for areas that could be improved technically. The silence was comfortable; though the harsh, criticising voice in her head couldn't be stopped.

"But Jack," She fretted. "Don't you worry about people getting sick of seeing me in your work? You use me almost exclusively. . ."

Almost as if to prove her point, she moved her hand to turn the pages. Countless portraits of her filled the sketchbook, drawings that captured her in her most solitary moments - often alone; reading, thinking, sleeping. Amongst her favourites was one of her sat at their bedroom window, a look of contemplation gracing her features as she combed through her unruly red curls, admiring her own reflection and not acknowledging the viewer. She smiled as she skimmed through more pages, finding studies of her face and body - every angle, every variation of lighting – she sighed in amazement; he knew her body better than she knew herself.

"Well firstly," He smiled, bringing her onto his lap. She took the sketchbook in both hands now, holding it lower so they could both see the contents as she continued turning the pages. "I don't think I can imagine _anyone_ gettin' sick of your pretty face." She let out a sigh, rolling her eyes and letting out a delighted laugh as he pecked her lips with a peppering of loving kisses. "Secondly, I don't care even if they did. I create art for myself. I put on paper what inspires me; what I find beautiful," He tucked a stray curl behind her ear as he spoke. "If people like it, that's great, if not, I'll still do it. I'm not try'na please anybody."

Nothing was more attractive to her than when Jack spoke about his work; exuding passion and intensity, speaking with his hands. She let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding, her eyes travelling around his face as she stared at him in wonder and incredulity; unable to believe that her partner in life was someone she respected and adored so deeply - both as an artist and a lover - a man who cared about her emotionally as well as physically; a man who strived every day to make her feel empowered and free instead of suppressed and restricted.

"Alright then, _Monsieur Big Artiste_, don't _you_ ever get bored of using me? Drawing the same thing over and over surely must get boring, Jack?"

He turned to her, grinning. "It's never the same thing. Every time I draw you it's like I notice something new; you somehow get even more beautiful each time I look at'cha. . . How'd ya do that, huh?" He teased, his finger curling under her chin and tipping her face upwards, smiling wide against her lips and kissing her.

She sighed happily, shaking her head at him hopelessly. She was convinced no other woman had ever felt even half as adored as she did.

Her eyes wandered his face, sighing as she took in his impossible beauty; the golden glow of his skin, chiseled facial features that, accented against soft, hooded ocean eyes, produced a unique blend of rugged mannishness and profound compassion. He was, simply put, the most handsome being she had ever seen. She knew she was not alone in this observation; she noticed the way women would gawk at him in the street whilst he would obliviously walk on by, blissfully unaware of any romantic attention unless it came from Rose herself. When he looked at her, even in public, it was as though she were the only person he saw; they could be in the middle of a crowded room and yet, Jack could somehow make her feel like the only person there. She couldn't help her immense attraction towards him – never had been able to – it had caused her stifled world to come crashing in around her in a single glance. He'd coaxed her out of her gilded cage with his magnetic gaze, and she'd known as soon as her eyes first locked with his that nothing on earth would ever be the same.

Reaching the final pages, she was met by a drawing of herself sat under a large oak tree. She instantly recognised the place, remembering the day it was from: during one of their walks to Washington Square Park in the weeks following Titanic. In the drawing, although her mouth was smiling, her glassy eyes looked haunted; still struggling to come to terms with everything that had happened; looking to the viewer – Jack – with desperate love and the need for reassurance. Fear and uncertainty lingered within the depths of her irises, and yet, a quiet strength that looked towards Jack as the symbol of hope and safety. She remembered back to that time - the days immediately following the sinking, their first week in New York - days plagued with survivor's guilt and nights haunted by dreams of freezing water and floating corpses. They comforted each other, allowing themselves to be completely honest and vulnerable – taking it in turns to hold one another as they would intermittently wake up in the middle of the night - sometimes Rose, sometimes Jack - spending full days cradled and crying in each other's arms. Those weeks had cemented their bond even more and had only confirmed that as long as they had each other, they could and would get through anything.

Not for the first time, she felt overwhelmed by her love for him. He saw everything - every emotion, even ones she tried to keep concealed.

She turned to him, no words necessary, simply looking at him in adoration, contentedness filling her entire soul. During moments like these, Rose could scarcely believe that at one time she had envisioned a future so drastically different; one that involved being ordered around, to birth children and manage the household . . . She had dreamt of true love when she was younger, of course; had secretly longed for the kind of relationship she had read about in all the great romance novels, but she had also accepted with resignation that it simply was not in the cards for her.

She nudged her nose against his, his breath against her face warm and intoxicating. They kissed slowly, Rose relishing the flavour of his kisses; the depths of his mouth tasting like nicotine and honey.

He kissed down the column of her neck and over her collarbone, placing soft kisses down the exposed part of her torso; the teasing swell of her breasts and cleavage pushing against the material of her dress.

* * *

After dinner, Rose cleared their plates as Jack had cooked for them. She loved his cooking, despite how initially wrong it had felt to sit and do nothing whilst a man prepared her food. She was affectionately getting used to the idea that their life together was not going to follow social rules or tradition – everything about them was unconventional, and it always would be.

She stood at the kitchen sink, washing the unclean dishes; Jack in his usual position whenever she did this task – with his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist.

"I missed you today," She whispered, melting back against his embrace. "I was thinking of getting a job. Only a few hours a week, maybe. . ." she trailed off, biting her lip, knowing that seeking employment would not have even been an option in her old life. She knew Jack was different; but her previous conditioning still made her nervous to even think such things, let alone bring them up in discussion.

"Then why don't you?"

The casual tone he'd spoken with made her giddy; as if her getting a job was absolutely the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, Jack. Really?" She spun to look at him.

"Of course. If you want to, why not?"

She almost immediately replied with the rehearsed list of reasons that her mother and upper-class society had ingrained into her mind as to 'why not'. Seeing the distant sadness in her eyes, he lifted his hands to cup her face, the rough skin of his thumbs brushing against her cheeks tenderly.

"I mean it. Whatever you want to do, Rose, I'll support you. As long as you're happy, I'm happy. I love you."

She felt grateful tears begin to brim as she stared at him, saying more with her eyes than she ever could with words. "Jack Dawson, you really are the most wonderful man I've ever met."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Some explicit content towards the middle of this chapter. Just a warning.**

…

**Monday, 5th August 1912**

Rose stifled an excited laugh as Jack – with his hands covering her eyes – guided her steadily up the spiral staircase. She was still wearing her waitressing uniform, despite her insistence to go home and change, but he had showed up at the café with a bouquet of roses and a pre-arranged agreement with her boss to whisk her away before the end of her shift - and how could she deny him? Now or ever?

Her employment had earned them some extra income, which they were currently saving up in order to move from their miserable apartment with its miserable occupants. She enjoyed the job now, although admittedly it had started terribly: she had not been used to the physical demand of being on her feet all day, nor had she been familiar with having to tolerate unsavoury people; she had cried all the way home after her first shift, fully ready to march into the building the following day and quit. Jack had listened attentively and kissed away her tears and – most importantly – encouraged her to give it one more try. Looking back, she was happy that she did. He'd insisted that the kind of independence a job offered was important, and - whilst he supported her hobbies of reading and writing - he also wanted her out in the world instead of being cooped up alone in their apartment all day. The challenges spurred on her determination and within days she was excelling at tasks and being tipped generously by enamoured customers.

Jack's career as an artist was garnering attention and praise, something he was not altogether comfortable with, although Rose – beaming proudly – had insisted it had been a long time coming. He'd recently been promoted to the position of lead artist; taking portrait commissions directly through the gallery instead of on a freelance basis, meaning he was also paid slightly more. Incidentally, the gallery had recently curated a showcase based on the role of female muses in visual art; prompting Jack to fill the gallery walls with portraits of Rose in various mediums – much to her self-effacing dismay. She didn't completely understand the endless source of inspiration he found in her, but he didn't really expect her to.

* * *

_"Monet's spent twenty years painting water lilies. Didja know that?" He kissed her forehead, lingering against her ivory skin. "There's somethin' like fifty different versions of 'em. All from different lighting, angles, seasons. The guy loves his waterlilies."_

_She hummed against him, threading her fingers through his silky hair. Their knowledge of art rivalled each other's; their conversations were never dull or boring. She genuinely adored being in a relationship with someone she felt taught her so much: about art, about life; someone who stimulated her mind as well as her body. She was always learning with Jack. Always learning, always loving._

_"…If the greatest Impressionist of all time's spent two decades painting his favourite flower, you better believe I'm gonna spend twice as long painting mine." He grinned, pulling her closer._

* * *

Rose had laid the Saturday Review out on the table the moment it was delivered. She was already familiar with the publication – the city's weekly digest of art, politics, science, and literature – and owned quite a few past volumes now gathering dust on their bookshelf. Her heart raced as she found his name in the contents section, almost tearing the delicate pages as she hurried to the art reviews excitedly. The gallery show had been a success – even attracting some society attention – much to Jack's initial unease. At first, he had been hesitant to have anything to do with that world, but Rose had been an unwavering pillar of support; had made him feel like it was okay to court the society papers and galleries who were scouting for new talent; he deserved the recognition and the praise, she'd told him amid reassuring kisses. If people saw even half the skill and promise in him that she did, he thought, maybe he could make something of himself in the art world after all.

"I don't care what they think, baby. Yours is the only opinion that matters." Jack spoke from behind her, affecting a tone of blasé indifference and downplaying her excitement, refusing to look at the papers himself.

She stifled a grin, his fidgeting and restlessness telling her otherwise. Stubborn, too proud, and everything in-between, she adored him all the same. She brought the paper closer to read the column as Jack hugged her from behind, dotting kisses up her neck and sneaking glances at the page.

_Greenwich Newcomer Stuns_

_J Dawson made an exciting addition to the Greenwich Village art circle on the 29__th__ with his debut showing at Joslin's. Dawson's collection centres around the ethereal Rose – a muse who would make the likes of Millais and Rossetti green with envy – and explores sensual femininity in a way reminiscent of the Pre-Raphaelites, but with a striking realism that the Brotherhood notably withholds in their melancholic, Romanticised imagery. Dawson paints his subject with loose, flowing hair and nearly removed clothing; the emphasis on her voluptuous and seductive form. Such revealing attire and lack of tight-fitting corsetry arguably symbolises her refusal to fit into socially inhibiting roles and constraints, signifying that Dawson's Rose is not a whimsical Pre-Raphaelite mistress but every bit the New Woman. Although his sitter possesses a divine beauty which may automatically suggest a sexual invitation to the male viewer, Dawson is keen to present her in such a way that does not overtly sexualise her; Rose's facial expression does not encourage anyone to gaze on her; she does not engage in any eye contact - instead, we see her toying with her flowing red hair and delighting in her own reflection. Thus, Dawson presents his Rose as displaying her sexuality entirely for herself and not for the gratification of a male viewer. Praised by progressives and academics alike, Dawson's portraits were incredibly well received by esteemed members of the local Greenwich scene, including the likes of Marie Jenney Howe, who is said to have found the showing 'remarkable' and 'empowering' - stating in her review that "[In the ever-present struggle for female liberation in our patriarchal society,] All men would do well to see a woman through the reverent eye of Jack Dawson."_

Rose's heart fluttered as she read the words. Her throat constricted with pride; her eyes welling up with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She turned, snaking her arms up to meet around his neck, her smile radiant. A rush of contentment, relief, and love washed over her – the realisation as startling as a ton of bricks: he truly was the living embodiment of all of her wildest dreams come true. In this sudden disbelief and unbridled relief at the change her life had taken - the miracle of finding Jack Dawson - she began to wonder what she had ever done to deserve him? He was the most outstanding man she'd ever met; antithetical in morals and behaviour to all the upper-class men she'd seen celebrated as exemplary gentlemen - but that's exactly what made him so attractive in her eyes. And now the whole world was catching on. To share his brilliance; his rarity and his magnificence – not only of his art but of his character – with the rest of the world was an honour.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Dawson. It seems your show was quite the sensation with the critics."

He looked unperturbed as he grinned at her, his eyes flitting to her lips. "Only as good as the inspiration."

She looked down playfully, before meeting his eyes again. "All men would do well to see a woman through the reverent eye of Jack Dawson." She repeated the quote somewhat breathlessly, smiling as he blushed at the words softly. "I told you Jack; you see people. And not in an objective way. You see past the surface, into their souls…" She looked at him with a hint of disbelief, gasping with pride. "I'm so lucky."

"You lucky?" He uttered, his eyes flashing with wonder. "Rose, you—"

She placed a finger to his lips. It was so like Jack to interject with some loving declaration about how he was the lucky one - he told her this all the time; tireless was his devotion and adoration. But right now, she felt an urgency to be the giving one. As she studied his face; looked into those sparkling sapphire eyes that contained her whole universe, she felt an almost primal need to show him how much she loved him.

After a beat, she closed the space between them tentatively. Slowly but with building passion she kissed him, seeking out his hot honeyed mouth with her tongue. He held her to him steadily, revelling as he always had in her eagerness. Not able to hold back any longer, her kisses became hungry, holding the promise of something more. She backed him into the bedroom without pulling away from his lips, his shirt removed by her decisive hands before they got there. He groaned softly, his hands drifting to her sash instinctively, loosening it and tugging her dress over her head. His hands ran over her voluptuous curves in the tiny silk slip as they kissed ravenously; his hot, heavy breath against her face so intimately making heat pool between her bare legs.

Rose pulled back to run her hands over his chest; his golden skin illuminated in the dim light of their bedroom. He was so beautiful; it almost made her heart skip a beat. She re-joined their lips with an audible moan, her back bowing as she pressed her soft torso against his firm one. It wasn't enough; was never enough, she wanted him closer, closer still.

"I want you." She mumbled, before pushing him backwards onto their bed, his beautiful laughter making her heart swell. She followed eagerly, straddling him, tugging at his slacks with an assertive smile. She kissed down his neck, feeling his hardness against her thigh. Pleased by this development, she glanced downwards to take in the outline of his erection. She smiled as she moved her lips back to his own, reaching her hand into his undershorts and gripping him; his girth too wide to completely close her hand around. He groaned loudly against her neck, kissing her hungrily.

"I want to taste you." She whispered, pumping him slowly, delighting in the way he twitched in her hand. "The way you taste me."

Jack looked up at her incredulously, his lust coated gaze temporarily gone. "Rose." He kissed her softly. "You don't hafta do that." He played with her curls, fighting his arousal at her dominance; her eagerness for him, her untamed passion.

The look she gave him then almost served as a silent warning.

She kissed him again, unable to reign in her brazen desire. "I want to. Don't you understand?" She whispered, pleading him with her eyes. "I want to." She repeated, softer, darting gentle kisses down his neck, down over his golden skin, further, further still. "I want to, Jack." She gasped. "I love every inch of you."

She slinked down his body, delighting in his passive groans, running her tongue over the taut muscles of his abdomen. Her red curls tickled his skin as she tugged down his undershorts, revealing all eight inches of his erection. His lithe frame only made him look bigger, and Rose felt a pang in-between her legs, still as captivated as the first time she'd seen it.

...

_ "Is every man's like yours, Jack?" She asked, feeling somewhat naive. A particular memory of visiting the Vatican flashed across her mind; she remembered shyly observing Michelangelo's sculptures of David and Bacchus and just assuming that's what all men were hiding beneath their clothes. Jack was significantly larger than anything she'd ever seen depicted in art, and she felt perplexed. _

_He chuckled. "No." He kissed her, a knowing smile on his face. "I can't say I've ever made a study of 'em, but I can tell you, they're not all like me." _

_Her cheeks flushed. "You're so... so much bigger than I expected."_

_..._

Rose felt herself rather lewd to think of such a vulgar male body part as attractive, but nevertheless, she did. It belonged to Jack; was as immaculate and firm and golden as the rest of him. She loved it just as she loved everything else about him.

His eyes glazed over with need. _"Rose."_ He groaned softly.

Her lips kissed his tip softly before she closed her mouth around him fully, working her hand in time, pumping him slowly. She glanced upwards to watch his reaction, enthralled at his ragged breath, the way his eyes rolled; his head lolling backwards in submission. She couldn't believe the power she had over him in this moment; couldn't believe that reducing him to such a state was so easy. Her tongue massaged him, encouraged by his sharp gasps, gritted teeth, toes curling.

"You're just aching to be inside me, aren't you?" She breathed against his shaft. She didn't know what had come over her; just that his reaction made her feel so sensual and empowered - she realised then: where people had always treated her like a delicate child, Jack had come along and made her feel like a liberated, sensual woman. One who could turn a grown man to putty in her hands. Or in her mouth.

* * *

**Monday, 5th August 1912**

"Don't peek."

"I'm not."

Rose's footsteps were steady but uncertain. Jack walked behind her close enough to guide her movements. The floorboards creaked loudly underneath their feet, and Rose stifled an excited giggle, gripping onto his arm tightly as he directed her.

"Now keep your eyes closed, I just gotta–"

He stopped walking and took his hands away from her face. She kept her eyes shut, fighting the temptation to look as she heard the jangle of keys and the sound of him opening another door. He reached for her hand and gently pulled her closer; unexpectedly, Rose felt the warm and welcoming rush of summer breeze on her warm cheeks.

"Alright, open your eyes."

She opened her eyes and was met with the view of rooftops, black silhouettes against orange, purple and pink hues of the fading dusk sky. Her eyes scanned the vista, recognising the marble arch of Washington Square: they were in the Village. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of music hall ragtime could be heard. Rose smiled as she noticed street artists packing up their chalk for the day, marvelling at their sidewalk creations outside the quaint boutiques of Bleecker Street.

The ragtime faded into the background din of New York City with its honking of horns and wailing of sirens and the sporadic calls of exuberance that littered the streets below. Rose turned around to see that they were stood on the terrace of a loft building which had been converted into a quaint maisonette. She peered inside, sighing at the fully furnished interior of the cosy apartment, wishing they could stay here forever. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted luggage lying at the foot of the couch. She did a double take, suddenly recognising their belongings.

"It's ours, Rose."

Whipping around to face him, she met his eyes curiously. "What?"

His hand reached into the pockets of his corduroy slacks, pulling out a single silver key, not once attempting to reign in the irresistible lop-sided gracing his handsome features. He walked closer, bringing her limp hand up to take it from him.

"Happy birthday, baby."

"You're- You. . . It's ours?" She stuttered, eyes wide, heart racing.

He nodded gently, chuckling at her reaction.

She cried out in surprise before flinging her arms around his neck, throwing herself into his arms and stifling his growing laughter with a violent flurry of kisses. "Oh! Jack! I love you. I love you."

His hands instinctively came up to hold her close, cradling her to him as he let himself enjoy her physical show of appreciation.

"Thank you." She whispered, groaning against his mouth as she showered his cheeks with grateful kisses. "Thank you, thank you."

Her kisses cascaded across his skin, her lips evading his own as they touched every inch of his face apart from there. He moved his head, struggling to capture her lips, before bringing a hand up to cup her chin. He held her face still, grinning softly as he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss of assertive tenderness.

"You wanna take a look inside?" He whispered, feeling her shiver slightly.

He propped open the door to the terrace, giving Rose the opportunity to wander around. She walked inside, raising her head and admiring the high wooden beams adorning the ceiling. It was a little bigger than their previous place, but at the same time infinitely cosier and warmer. The colour scheme was a mix of honey and beige: no steely grey walls or drab furniture, much to their delight. An easel stood in one living room corner, with a writing desk in the other. In the middle of the room, a phonograph stood on a wooden coffee table, and Jack walked over to it, picking up the cylinders to show to Rose.

"This came with the place. Pretty swell, huh?"

Jack's excited energy was contagious. Rose's eyes took in everything around her once again whilst he fiddled with the cylinders. She watched curiously as he delicately operated the device. Moments later, a scratchy recording began playing.

"Will you dance with me, Miss?" He grinned down at her.

_I love you truly, truly dear  
Life with its sorrow, life with its tear  
Fades into dreams when I feel you are near  
For I love you truly, truly dear_

The last of the sun was piercing the horizon as Jack lead her back out to the terrace, slowly dancing amongst the rooftops of Manhattan. Rose pressed against him, leaning her head on his shoulder dreamily.

"You see that, Rose?" He whispered, pointing at the horizon.

She raised her head, humming against him.

"It's ours." He kissed her softly. "We're gonna head out for it whenever we feel like it. Just two tumbleweeds blowin' in the wind."

She smiled softly at the shared memory. "And make each day count?"

He looked back down at her, his eyes studying her with breath-taking appreciation. "And make each day count."

She shivered again, prompting Jack to tighten his grip on her. By now, the first stars of the evening were twinkling into existence above them as they gazed out over the darkening Manhattan skyline.

"Our Greenwich garret under the stars…" He brought his lips to whisper huskily against her ear.

She lifted her eyes to meet his own. "Take me to them, Jack."

He looked at her for a moment, opening his mouth to speak, before he realised no words would verbalise his feelings or do them justice. He glanced from her eyes to her lips, swiftly closing the space between them; their lips meeting like waves crashing on the ocean, lightning striking across the prairie. She received him with fiery demand, matching his dominance as she moaned into his mouth. His lips danced across hers with unrestrained passion as she tugged on his collar with both hands, pulling him closer against her. In their kiss and each kiss that came after, a promise of unyielding love, devotion, possibility, and adventure; a promise of the future.

_Ah, love, 'tis something to feel your kind hand  
Ah, yes, 'tis something by your side to stand  
Gone is the sorrow, gone doubt and fear  
For you love me truly, truly dear_

…

* * *

**A/N: Ok I've never written a blowj before but it was constantly requested so I hope this was satisfactory. I know this story started out very smutty, but I do so love writing all facets of their relationship and I always strive to include substance (or at least, more than just sex.) I'm not sure this last chapter completely follows the last few in terms of atmosphere/approach, but I just really wanted to a) finish this story and b) actually publish something. I've been enjoying some amazing fics on here recently and it's given me a kick of writing inspiration. I know I love to focus on the physical intimacy, but I also really want to show you guys there's more to me than strictly that – I can write wholesome fairytale romance too! I promise! **

**Some references/inspiration: **

• **Monet did spend over twenty years painting his waterlilies, there's something like 250 different variations altogether - I had to change this line a few times as I completely forgot Monet would've been alive and still painting them/growing his collection in 1912, lol!**

• **Jack's portrait review of Rose was inspired by Dante Rossetti's Lady Lilith (1867). I love the Pre-Raphaelites' conception of feminine beauty and think it's definitely something I can see Jack aspiring to and appreciating; the celebration of tall, willowy women with pale skin, flowing red locks, scarlet lips, and often melancholic expressions who did not exist solely for the male viewer – unlike the vast majority of female subjects throughout art history! These powerful women were depicted as rejoicing in their own beauty and sexuality, and I think that's along the lines of how Jack would want to portray Rose in his work. The Pre-Raphaelite paintings of their models and muses - who were often the artists' wives and mistresses - absolutely **_**defied**_** Victorian standards of beauty and caused much controversy. It's historically permissible that Jack would have at least known about the movement - if not been inspired by it - as it was active from the mid 1800s until after WWI.**

• **The 'New Woman' ideal was a term used at the end of the 19****th**** century (fin-de-siècle)/beginning of the 20****th**** century to describe women who were pushing against the limits that male-dominated society imposed on them. The New Woman was a free-spirited, free-thinking, independent, bicycling, intelligent career-minded ideal that women could aspire to. Rose very much fits into this archetype.**

• **Marie Jenney Howe was a real person known for her involvement in the US women's suffrage movement. In 1912, she founded a feminist literary and debating society, Heterodoxy, based in the Greenwich Village. I just love the idea of Rose getting involved and attending a few of the meetings and in turn, the feminists taking a liking to Jack's empowering art, lol.**

• **Elsie Baker's 'I Love You Truly' is a real song, recorded in early June of 1912 - ****only several weeks after the Titanic sank. It was one of the most popular songs that year, so I thought it was sweet and fitting to include. You can find it on YouTube. **

• **Lastly, the whole bohemian-Greenwich-village setting was inspired by an amazing set of vintage photographs I saw when researching early twentieth century New York City. So annoying that I can't include links! But if you google 'Vintage: New York's Bohemian Greenwich Village (1910s – 1920s)' you should be able to find a link to the photos – they're on a site called Monovisions, which should be the top search result. I just remember being absolutely enamoured by it and instantly thinking it's somewhere I could picture them living amongst like-minded progressive artist types. The name 'Joslin' is taken from one of the tea rooms/art galleries in this collection of photos too, a little tribute. :)**

**I apologise if this historical research/accuracy seems pedantic. I get really invested in historical background and sociological context, but I do think it's important and I know I appreciate it in others' writing too. I have many bookmarks on my computer - everything from early twentieth century slang and restaurant menus, to historical maps of NYC and Titanic deck plans. LOL! Does anyone else go to this extreme? I know it's ~only fanfic and 'not that deep' (lol Titanic pun) but I do strive for some semblance of realism in my writing – even if a lot of it is very fanciful and sexually charged.**

**Thank you for reading, guys! Lots of story ideas to come. Feedback is appreciated, as always; constructive criticism, suggestions, requests! Reviews or PMs! Whatever! Pleeease let me know what you thought. I love hearing from you - it makes it all worth it. xx**


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